


I Have a What?

by Ulan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Silly Rivendell Husbands, Temporary Amnesia, The Elrond Family, There should be a tag for that, Third Age, yeah that is what I call them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: Glorfindel wakes up to strange faces... and even stranger (but wonderful) news.





	I Have a What?

**Author's Note:**

> This story is actually not my original idea, but is based on a popular trope in this other fandom I am following. ~~As far as I know, it was inspired by this video about a girl on anaesthesia proposing to her nurse.~~ My thanks once again to SavioBriion (my dear, you are good at this!) for pointing me to [ the right video](https://youtu.be/DiviQfLyQX4), which is about a guy waking up from surgery and starts hitting on his wife. Cute! ♥
> 
> I literally woke up this morning and was struck by how much I wanted a version of this for Erestor and Glorfindel. I also hope to add more Silly Rivendell HusbandsTM in my list of stories because there is only so much pining and sadness and not-togetherness I can stand before they start giving me heartburns.

Glorfindel slowly wakes to a stern-sounding voice.

"You are all idiots. Had I half a mind to do so I would have you plowing the fields if that would not risk you ruining the yield and have the entire valley starve through winter because their princes are a bunch of half-wits."

A sigh follows this somewhere to Glorfindel's left, a little closer compared to where the first voice had been. "What I would like to know is _why_ you are all here again. You are crowding my healing room."

"We want to see how Glorfindel fares, Ada." This one sounds like a little girl. Her voice sounds even closer to Glorfindel, as though she is sitting right beside him. "Elladan said that his wounds were many and he lost a lot of blo-- ow, Elladan!"

"Arwen," this one is hissed out, also nearby, "for the love of the Valar. Erestor is right there." 

"Do not omit things on my account," says the voice from earlier, smooth but filled with foreboding. "It is not as if you are not in hot water already."

This time, Glorfindel manages to slowly blink his eyes awake. A white ceiling greets him, lit by sunlight. 

"Oh!" says a new voice to Glorfindel's left. "Hush, dears, I think he is waking."

He blinks again. He lets his eyes shift carefully down and is immediately greeted by a small crowd of faces. There is a silver-haired lady to his left, the one who seems to have recently spoken, and also a couple of young faces closest to him with expressions that look like nerves and... worry? 

Then finally, there, standing the farthest, is a face that makes Glorfindel stop. 

He stares. 

The other Elf immediately catches Glorfindel looking. His stern expression does not completely ease, but he does send him a curious lift of a dark eyebrow. 

And, _oh_.

"Um..." is all Glorfindel can manage.

"All right, all of you give him room." It is that other voice from earlier who speaks, now coming with the calm face of an Elf with black hair. This Elf approaches the bed -- ah, it is Glorfindel who is lying on the bed -- although he turns his head and addresses the other dark-haired Elf. "Erestor, could you get that poultice there? Yes, please put that on him where he needs it."

The stern Elf (but beautiful, Glorfindel's mind supplies-- oh, and the way he _moves_ ) turns away, to Glorfindel's disappointment, but it only lasts a moment because he then returns and walks towards the bed. The sea of young ones scramble to make a path for him without being told.

The Elf sits on Glorfindel's bed ( _oh_ ) and begins to examine him. 

"Does your head hurt, Glorfindel?" he asks, not even meeting Glorfindel's eyes, instead looking seriously somewhere at the side of Glorfindel's head.

"Hi," Glorfindel says to him, in a daze. "I think I love you."

The room suddenly falls silent, which is when Glorfindel realises how rowdy the others were actually being just moments earlier. They all suddenly stop moving though, and are now staring at him with varying degrees of shock -- and, for a few, amusement.

It dawns on him that he might have said something strange. He cannot really remember what it was now though, so he just shakes his head, hoping to clear it. "I meant to say... yes. Yes, my head hurts a lot."

"Oh, sweet Estë," says another silver-haired Elf, whom Glorfindel notices just now. "He is barely awake and he is already flirting with the chief counsellor."

Glorfindel frowns up at the new face. "The... chief counsellor?"

"Poor Glorfindel," says the lady from earlier. "Elrond, I think you might be right. He does seem out of sorts." She peers up at Glorfindel's face. "Do you not remember Erestor, my friend?"

"No?" Glorfindel frowns at the question, confused. "I certainly would not forget someone as beautiful as he is." 

This actually makes the stern Elf scowl. "This hypocritical bastard."

"Hush, Erestor, you old fool. Trust you of all people not to see how sweet this is." The lady giggles, and she leans closer to Glorfindel and places a gentle hand on his arm. "Sweetie, that is Erestor. He is someone very important to you."

Glorfindel blinks at her, slow to comprehend the words. When they do sink in, however, he turns to this Erestor, and immediately he feels the breath catching in his throat. "Oh. Yes, I can see how that can be true."

This seems to get the others snickering and the dark-haired Elf to pause. He opens his mouth, about to speak but looking as though he is grasping for words. 

Another person races him to it.

"Elbereth, he really has it bad for you, doesn't he? All this time I thought he is just playing around whenever he does things like that," says the silver-haired male in a mock-contemplative voice. He leans against the dark-haired Elf, elbow to his shoulder. "How is that even still possible? It's been centuries. I mean I would be tired of you by now."

That stern glare returns and is, of course, shot to the silver-haired Elf.

The lady pats Glorfindel's arm to catch his attention again. "What do you remember, my dear?"

Glorfindel turns to her again, still disoriented and confused. "Remember?" he starts. "I do not-- I mean, if--if I may I ask... who are... all of you?" 

The room greets him once again with silence. Glorfindel looks at all of them, now truly confused. 

The stern Elf frowns and catches the eye of the calmer dark-haired Elf standing at the foot of the bed. It is therefore the lady once again who kindly answers Glorfindel, and she does so gently with a smile.

"We are your family. There is my husband, Elrond," she points to the calm Elf, "who is the healer caring for you at the moment. I am Celebrían, and those are my children-- oh no, not that one." She points at the other silver-haired Elf. "That is just Lindir. I suppose we here fancy him a singer."

The said Elf balks at this. "My Lady, I am offended!"

This gets the lady giggling, and she waves delicately at the other. "I am only kidding, dear Lindir. You know we love you and think you have the loveliest voice." This seems to appease the other, and so the lady moves on to the rest of the group, particularly to the last Elf -- the stern, beautiful one.

"And this here," Celebrían says with a big, happy smile. "This is Erestor -- your husband." 

It is a while before Glorfindel can speak after that.

He blinks. "My... husband?" 

"Yes," says Celebrían, smiling so widely. "You married him shortly after mine and Elrond's wedding."

Unconsciously, a hand goes to Glorfindel's heart. Too many skips in its beats, but then, who could blame him because... _oh_. "I--I have a mate?"

"For now," mutters Erestor, which promptly earns him a slap on the arm from Lindir. 

Glorfindel only half registers them. He scans the faces around him, feeling truly dazed. "I am sorry... I do not understand."

"You have returned from a skirmish gone awry, my friend," says the calm Elf at the foot of the bed. "You are in a state now because you saved my son's life, for which we are most sincerely and eternally grateful."

"Hello, Glorfindel." It is a new Elf that speaks, one of the younger ones Celebrían pointed to earlier. He is sitting (kneeling?) on the floor beside his sister to Glorfindel's right side of the bed. "I am Elrohir, and I deeply apologise for all the pain I am putting you through. It was brave of you, coming to get me with all those Orcs surrounding me. Thank you once again for always watching over me."

Elrohir then turns to Erestor. "Good, honourable and wise master, I am very, very, _immensely_ sorry. I know the error of my ways and know now not to stray from my company, so please do not shave my head or skin me and feed me to the goats."

"I do not think you are in the position to negotiate at the moment, are you, Elrohir?" Arms folded, the stern Elf just glares at the younger one, who deflates and hides behind his siblings. 

"Oh," Glorfindel sighs wistfully as he watched the exchange before him. He turns to Celebrian. "He is wonderful."

This has the two ladies in the group -- and uh, Lindir -- giggling at him, for some reason, and also gets the stern Elf sighing beside him. It is the calm one, however, who claps his hands and catches everyone's attention.

"All right, that is enough. As this has the potential to be quite embarrassing for Glorfindel, I would like all of you to get out." This is met by disappointed cries, to which the healer clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Out! You said you were merely checking how he fares; you see now he is fine."

"Aaw, but I want him to talk more!"

"Lindir, for the love of the Valar. I was counting on you to lead the children out, not lead them in the whinging." 

It is Celebrían who eventually shepherds everybody out of the room, ushering them and saying something about letting Glorfindel rest. 

This leaves only Glorfindel with Elrond the healer and... and _him_.

"Are you really my mate?" he finds himself asking the Elf who remained seated on the bed beside him. 

The Elf looks at Glorfindel strangely, as though he does not know what to make of him. He does not speak either, but eventually he does lift up a hand, the back of it facing Glorfindel. It takes Glorfindel a while to realise that the other is showing him the ring on his forefinger. 

Glorfindel looks down at his own right hand and gasps, seeing the same golden band on his own finger. It even has the same patterns as the one the other Elf is wearing. "Elbereth..." he breathes out in wonder. "I cannot believe... oh. I found myself a mate and he is breathtaking."

The other Elf blinks and looks away, and Glorfindel notices that there is now a wholly endearing flush growing on that handsome face. Uncanny. "Settle down now, Glorfindel," he says. "You should be resting."

"You are really mine?" Glorfindel takes the other's hand, the one with the ring. Dazedly he looks down at their joined hands, though the movement registers to him a bit slowly. "But then, you wear my ring, so you must really, truly be mine. You are so beautiful and I love your voice. I knew I would love my mate's voice."

The other looks at him quizzically. "You knew you would love your mate's voice?"

Glorfindel sighs, his chest feeling tight. "I have always longed for a mate, and so I have pictured many times what he might be like in my head. For a very, very long time, I searched and was waiting for him."

"For how long?" 

"I do not know. Very long. Ecthelion said that it was my fault that it has been so long. He said I am too picky."

Ecthelion, his friend from even as far back as Nevrast overlooking the Sea, has always chided Glorfindel for lamenting his loneliness but always finding fault in the Elves that do come along. Ecthelion did not understand, but Glorfindel insisted that his mate would not be just anybody. He would be someone Glorfindel would recognise, and he would be someone truly amazing. 

Somehow, this seems to give the other Elf pause. His stern face from earlier smoothens out, transforming into something pleasant and more beautiful that just takes Glorfindel's breath away. "Is that so?" he asks, words tinged with a chuckle.

Glorfindel leans back on the pillows, closes his eyes and sighs happily. "It is so. I love the sound of your laughter." 

This makes the other Elf laugh again, to Glorfindel's delight. With his mate's hand in his, beautiful and even sitting close and intimate with Glorfindel, all seems to be well -- that is, until Glorfindel reopens his mouth. "What did you say your name was again?"

The hand in his twitches, and Glorfindel sort of hears a low grumbling that sounds something like, "Suddenly reminded that I am upset with this one, too." Then, louder: "Elrond, I might just kill this guy."

"Oh, but we both know you will come to regret that." The other Elf, Elrond -- whom Glorfindel has forgotten is also around -- chuckles somewhere. "His name is Erestor, Glorfindel."

Oh, that is right. 

"Erestor..." The name rolls smoothly and heavenly on Glorfindel's tongue, the rumble from the "r's" even a comforting detail that he immediately loves. "What a lovely name. I am sorry I forgot it. It is just that my thoughts are all foggy and it is hard to... keep track of things." 

He hears a sigh released beside him. "Sleep now, Glorfindel."

"Will you stay with me, Erestor?" He sleepily opens his eyes again and pats the space beside him on the bed. "Here, please. Come lie down with me." 

"It is high noon and I have work. You will probably be asleep for days after this anyway," says Erestor, who then continues in a harder tone, "which is what you get for using your body like the shield it isn't but you seem to believe it is." 

Glorfindel fully wakes at this, and he moves to take Erestor's hand between both of his own. "Oh, but please... you are leaving? Please, I just met you."

Erestor winces, the fingers of his other hand coming up to massage his head. "You really have not just--" he starts between gritted teeth. Somehow though, he seems to relent, and then just looks down at Glorfindel. 

Glorfindel worriedly meets that gaze, silently imploring. That is how he notices that Erestor's eyes are a beautiful deep green, the colour of old forests and still, ancient waters. They look back at Glorfindel for a very long time, who is then struck by a strange, surreal sort of longing. Erestor looks to him still a stranger, but at the same time he oddly feels so familiar in a way Glorfindel cannot explain. He cannot help but just look up at those eyes and drown in them, and be utterly, completely lost to the feeling of wanting so much for Erestor to _stay_.

After a while, Erestor shifts, lifts a hand, and in the next moment there are fingers carding lightly through Glorfindel's hair. It makes Glorfindel's breath hitch and his chest to tighten, helpless to the joy that touch makes him feel. 

"I will be here when you wake," Erestor promises, whispered low, just between the two of them. 

Glorfindel's eyes close of their own accord, those fingers as though seeping magic, making his eyelids heavy. He breathes deeply and even catches a faint but sweet and irresistible scent coming off from Erestor's skin. "You speak harshly but your touch is gentle," he cannot help but sigh. "I love that."

There is a smile in that voice when it says, "Even that I speak harshly?"

"Mmm." Nothing, not even days in Aman, has ever felt like this. "You are perfect... just right, and exactly how I imagined."

* * *

Glorfindel sleeps, and the room is quiet for a while.

"He should be back to his old self when the herbs wear off," says Elrond as he now approaches the two Elves on the sickbed. 

He chuckles at the picture they paint, one sleeping with his eyes closed in healing sleep, but clinging to the other's hand as though he would jump awake should he leave. (From what Elrond heard from their conversation earlier, he would not put it past Glorfindel either.) Erestor, meanwhile, has started applying the poultice around the bruises on his spouse's face.

Elrond sits on a chair across Erestor, intending to keep him company. He smiles fondly at his most trusted friend, prickly and dour even in his best days, but still somehow ended up finding for himself a mate as enamoured with him as the one lying between them on the bed.

"You picked a good one in him, I have told you this," Elrond remarks.

Erestor looks up at him. Sometimes, even Elrond cannot read what is in his chief counsellor's mind; that Elf does have a way of keeping things to himself. He does note now, however, the relaxed set of his friend's face, the way his eyes go back almost immediately to Glorfindel, how they soften and how his thumb brushes against the back of the hand clinging to his own.

He notes also the gentle way that Erestor eventually smiles when he says, "I know."


End file.
